HouseSitting
by deggey
Summary: Marzipan has to find a new house-sitter she can trust.


"And don't forget to water these petunias. They get a little finicky."

Marzipan looked over the garden one more time, just to make sure she covered everything. Her house required heavy housesitting when she was gone, and she was going to be gone for a _long_ time. Three weeks to be exact.

She remembered looking over her address book when deciding on whom to call. Strong Bad was immediately out of the question, as his shenanigans only lead to major problems involving sour cream, a bag of red ants and hardly functional greasy mechanics (there was an incident last week…). Bubs was too busy at his job to put time aside for her home's unique needs, and Coach Z…well, she just plain didn't want him anywhere near her things.

Homestar's voice rang from the other end of the phone with excitement when she called, but the more he talked about nothing going wrong and how she was going to have such a lovely time on her trip did she further realize hiring him would probably lead to a downfall in more than just their relationship. There was a reason they hadn't moved in together. He could barely care for himself; let alone and entire collection of precious plants and items under one roof. She quickly withdrew her request, instead suggesting that he stay at home and _not touch anything _while she was gone.

Strong Sad was a strong possibility, but the last time he housesat she came home to her garden in an inexplicable state of decay and gloom. It took her weeks to nurture it out of depression.

Everybody else seemed to have plans for their summer as well – even Homsar, as strange as his plans sounded. But she wasn't planning on contacting him anyway.

That only left one person in town that was available.

The Poopsmith bent down and grazed the flowers with the soiled fingers of his glove. His thumb stroked the petals gently, and for a moment he seemed entranced by the feel of the soft purple texture.

"Uh…" Marzipan paused, taking a moment to clear her throat and catch his attention. He glanced up at her and quickly straightened his back, nervously biting his lip and folding his hands against his chest. His eyes darted away, zigzagging at nothing in particular to his left.

She led him back into the house after a brief survey of her surroundings in the backyard. She really didn't want to leave the care of her babies in the hands of someone else for so long, but she had no choice. That animal shelter needed emergency volunteers... and those poor bunnies!

Marzipan motioned for The Poopsmith to sit down on the couch, her invisible grasp taking hold of a clipboard with three pages pressed onto its surface. "I know this may seem like and unnecessary step when it comes to housesitting…" She clicked a pen and handed the contract over to her new hire. "…but due to past experiences I'd rather be safe than sorry."

He gingerly took the clipboard and clicked the pen a few times, running over the words inked on the white page. An eyebrow raised and he lifted the page to look over the one under it. His expression turned from one of interest to amused, then to mildly disgusted, and on the last page he just nodded his head and tapped a finger on the paper.

Marzipan stared at the pen in his hand, watching his thumb click down repeatedly. She grew more and more nervous the longer he read, shifting a bit in her seat.

"I know it's a lot to ask," She breathed, shattering the monotone silence built only by a clicking pen. "…but I really do appreciate you doing this for me. I don't want to make this hard or anything."

The Poopsmith looked up at her from under his eyebrows, face set in a blank, yet thoughtful, stare.

"Really, I don't. Feel free to negotiate any of the terms outlined in the…"

_Scribble scribble tap._

She didn't even finish her sentence as he messily scrawled his signature atop the inked black line and reached the clipboard back out to her. Marzipan's eyes locked with his as she took the contract back. The right corner of his mouth turned up in a semi-crooked smile, and he slowly stood up from the couch, blinking.

"…Okay, then," She sighed, looking away and turning her back. A strange warmth crept up her neck and into her cheeks. "It's settled then. I trust that after three weeks my house will still be in…._livable_ conditions." She turned back, donning a friendly smile to match his.

The Poopsmith nodded, then slowly strode to the door, absentmindedly smacking his fist into his palm in a slow, steady rhythm.

As he turned the doorknob Marzipan took a deep breath. "Yeah, so…tomorrow you'll be here?"

He half turned and smiled at her over his shoulder.

"I'm leaving at 11 so the morning duties will be taken care of." She pursed her lips, and then jumped slightly, snagging the door just before he could close it behind himself. "Oh! Wait! I almost forgot…" She spun around to face the hooks holding various keys. She poked at a few before she found the correct one.

The Poopsmith stepped back inside, cocking his head at his employer. She rose up a shiny metal key, one that looked almost unused.

"The spare key." She simply stated, taking his hand and pressing it into his palm. "You're going to need it to get into the house."

He closed his fingers around it and waved his fist slightly in the air, cracking a larger, toothier smile this time. He stepped backwards out onto the welcome mat on the step, raising the fist with the key and giving a friendly salute before closing the door between them.

Marzipan let go of the breath she didn't realize she was holding. Alright. So she finally got her house a babysitter. A very available one, too. She still felt that strange anxiety well up inside her, the one that came with the unsure feeling of trust she was currently showing. Caring for her house was a big deal. Not just anyone could do it.

Her invisible grasp folded her scrubs that she'd be wearing when cleaning out the animal cages at the shelter. With every fold she tried to fold away her anxiety, put it off to the side and forget about it. The Poopsmith was a reliable guy, she was sure of it. He wasn't up to no good like Strong Bad. She had already called him over once or twice to fix a broken pipe in the past, when Bubs wasn't available, and already she could see a difference in the quality of work. The amount of cash in her wallet. Everybody was aware that Bubs overcharged on everything. The Poopsmith seemed content enough with the company.

She pressed the shirt down into her duffle bag, slowly zipping the lip around the hard-packed bag.

_Yeah, I'm sure everything will be just fine._ She smiled to herself.


End file.
